


daniel in the den

by amsves



Series: Master and Man (and Other Stories) [15]
Category: Teen Titans (Animated Series)
Genre: (at least according to wikipedia), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bad Things Happen Bingo, Dehydration, Isolation, Starvation, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-17 09:19:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16513580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amsves/pseuds/amsves
Summary: Slade decides that Robin needs to build up an immunity to the rather unsavory techniques the bigger villains use to obtain information[Bad Things Happen Bingo]





	daniel in the den

**Author's Note:**

> Dragged by the ankle for Bingo

“Torture training?”

Slade nodded. “Your former peers might have considered themselves above such…  _ distasteful _ behavior, but you run in more unsavory circles now. The information you possess is valuable to many and they will do whatever it takes to break you and extract it. And so, torture training. Any questions before we begin?”

“Uh--”

“Excellent.” Slade grabbed Robin’s shoulder and pulled the younger boy flush to his chest, tilting Robin’s chin so that his apprentice was looking him in the eye. “From now on, you are not to see me as your mentor or your friend or anything of that sort. I am your captor, and I do not care about you personally. I have no qualms with doing what is necessary to obtain what I want. Terra, watch carefully,” he added, directing a sidelong glance at his other apprentice. “I expect you to observe Robin intently and learn from his mistakes. It will be your turn next. 

“Now, Robin,” Slade continued, directing his attention back to the boy in his arms, “Let’s start with something simple, shall we? You know something that I don’t. Tell me: what is the true identity of Batman?”

Robin choked. “Slade, what the  _ hell _ \--” He doubled over as Slade delivered a powerful punch to his stomach, rendering him breathless. Before he could recover, Slade swept his feet out from under him and Robin hit the ground with a dull  _ thud _ .

“I’ll ask again: what is Batman’s secret identity?” Slade growled, and Robin remembered for the first time in a very long while why he had been so afraid of Slade even before his friends’ lives were on the line.

“I … I don’t know,” Robin panted, pushing himself up onto his hands and knees. Slade shrugged and grabbed Robin by the ankle, dragging his protégé across the floor of the lair. Robin scrambled for purchase, but the floor was too smooth. Soon he found himself being flung into a prison cell.

“Take comfort in the fact that I need you alive,” Slade intoned as he slammed the barred door shut. “However, that is the only comfort you will experience until you tell me what I need to know.”

“Slade, I don’t know!” Robin pleaded, gripping the cell bars separating him from his Master.

Slade wrenched Robin’s fingers backwards and he fell away from the bars with a cry. “You do know. Do not attempt to lie to me again.” He turned away from Robin and walked towards the room’s real door. “You will stay here until you can give me what I need. I will visit you once a day with a glass of water to see if you are ready to cooperate. Until you are, you will receive no food.”

Slade turned back slightly, so that Robin could just see the white of his single eye. “I will ask you one more time: what is the true identity of Batman?”

Robin clenched his hand into a fist and looked away. “I can’t tell you that.”

Slade didn’t acknowledge him with a reply, simply turning back towards the door and slipping through it, letting it close behind him with a heavy  _ bang _ .

Robin was alone.

The first thing he did was take inventory of his cell. It looked to be pretty standard, featuring a single mattress atop a metal bed frame bolted to the floor in one corner and a toilet in the other. Robin couldn’t see any cameras or listening devices, but he knew they were there. He would just have to find them. It would be a good way to pass the time.

Time was one thing he had a lot of--at least, he assumed so. In reality he wasn’t sure how long Slade would let this play out. Slade probably needed him for missions, so he couldn’t be locked up for too long. Maybe a couple of days? Slade had said he wouldn’t eat until he talked, so that gave him a maximum of about three weeks. 

Unless, of course, Slade caught him right on the brink of starvation and saved him, only to start the cycle over again.

Robin didn’t want to think about that. 

So he didn’t. He focused on tiring him body out first, doing push-ups, sit-ups, squats, and any other exercise he could think of without any equipment. He wasn’t just going to sit quietly and rot.

It didn’t occur to him until he was panting on the floor after a fairly intense workout that strenuous exercise was not an activity to be done on an empty stomach, especially when he wouldn’t be feeling full any time soon. 

With physical exercise off the table, mental exercise was next on the list. Robin measured the dimensions of his cell with his footsteps (10 steps by 12 steps), memorized the pattern of fissures on the ceiling (strangely reminiscent of the Gotham sewer system), and counted the number of bars separating him from Slade and Terra (nine on the door, twenty-nine in total). He didn’t find any surveillance material however, which was worrisome. Robin had done such a thorough sweep of his tiny abode that even Batman would be impressed, fingers digging into every crevice and eyes peering into every crack, and yet he had nothing to show for it. It would be easy for someone else to give up and assume he wasn’t being monitored, but Robin knew better. Slade was better at hiding than anyone else he knew.

Thoroughly exhausted in mind, body, and spirit, Robin flopped onto the uncomfortable bed and passed out.

* * *

 

His cell didn’t have a clock or any windows, so Robin had no way of knowing what time it was when he woke or how long he had been asleep. His stomach was growling, but that indicated nothing useful. He licked his lips--already chapped from dehydration--and blinked the sleep out of his eyes. Slowly he sat up and raised his arms above his head, before getting out of bed and going through an extensive morning stretch routine. After that, he began the search for surveillance anew.

He still hadn’t found anything when Slade came for his first visit. 

“Good morning, Robin,” his Master murmured, letting his single eye roam up and down Robin’s disheveled form. “Are you ready to cooperate?”

Robin shook his head in response. He didn’t trust his tongue to be able to form words--he couldn’t remember a time when his mouth had been this dry.

Slade simply handed over the promised glass of water and turned to leave. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he promised, waving a hand as he departed once more.

Robin waited until Slade was out of sight before he put the glass to his lips. He drank greedily, his body desperate for water, but he knew he had to make this last. Reluctantly he set the glass on the floor next to his bed, still roughly half-full. 

Dehydration was a real risk. Humans could go without food for a few weeks, but Robin would be dead in  _ days  _ if he didn’t pace himself. He settled himself on the cold cell floor and took a deep breath. Calm and patience would be his friends in the coming days. 

Robin slowly took another roving look around the cell. It still looked as bleak, sparse, and uninteresting as it had the day before. He sighed, and set himself in a position he’d seen Raven in many times before. 

He’d intended to try and meditate, thinking that maybe it would help distract him from the hunger, but the image of Raven floating in Titans’ Tower brought with it a whole slew of other memories that were impossible to drown out. Beast Boy and Cyborg bickering over tofu, Starfire’s strange customs and holidays, the team’s utter inability to agree on even a single pizza topping … it all came rushing at him with a force that nearly knocked him on his back.

He pushed himself off the floor and stood up. So much for that idea. 

What had he been doing before Slade had arrived? Oh, right--he had been trying to find where Slade had surely hidden those cameras, without any luck. Robin stood in the middle of the cell and crossed his arms impatiently. 

“I know you’re watching me, Slade,” he said to no one. 

He waited, hoping maybe that Slade would answer, but no one did. Robin pressed on. “I know for a fact that you have cameras in this room, and probably wires for audio too. So I know you’re hearing me.” He huffed. “Don’t think I’ll break so easily. I’ve given you just about everything of  _ me _ , but the Batman’s identity isn’t mine to reveal. It’s a secret I’ve sworn to take to the grave. You can kill me over it if you want.”

Robin dropped his arms and flopped down onto the mattress. A huge yawn split his features, and he closed his eyes. “Hey, I’ve got a question. What happens if you come while I’m asleep? Are you going to wake me up? Or will you just leave the glass of water and go?”

Still no answer. Robin decided that Slade was definitely listening, but wasn’t responding because he didn’t want to give Robin the satisfaction. That seemed in-character for him. With another sigh he rolled over onto his side. Maybe he’d take a nap to pass the time.

* * *

 

When he woke up, there was a glass of water waiting for him by the bars. Robin jumped out of bed. No way. He’d really already been in here for two days? Twenty-four hours twice was forty-eight. That couldn’t be right. It only felt like … Robin couldn’t decide how long it felt like. With no clocks and no windows, he could only rely on his circadian rhythm, but that didn’t seem to be an option, either. Maybe it really was already the third day.

Robin ran a hand through his hair and grimaced. He was filthy. The sweat from the first day still lingered on his skin and in his clothes, and his hair was greasy and limp. He was sure he looked a mess, but without a mirror there was no way to tell for sure. 

Robin sat back down on the mattress and kicked his feet absently. It was strange, but the hardest thing to endure so far hadn’t been the hunger or the thirst, but the boredom. He could think of dozens of ways to entertain himself but they all were ill-advised in his current state.

He was tired, too, but another nap so soon would be impossible. Robin curled his fingers around the biting metal bed frame and, for lack of anything else to do, kicked his feet harder. Here he was, Robin the Boy Wonder, dying of boredom. How pitiful.

His foot connected with something. Robin glanced down at the ground and nearly cried.

The half-full glass of water from the first day. He’d put it by his bed and forgotten to drink it later. Now, with the glass on its side and the precious water spilling out onto the floor, it was too late.

Had Robin had slightly less pride he might have tried to drink it off the ground, but he wasn’t that broken yet. He simply stared at it with disappointment.

Suddenly, though, he had an idea. Robin got down on the floor and dipped one of his fingers into the puddle and dragged the water around on the floor, forming shapes and lines. It wasn’t the most intellectually-stimulating fun he’d ever had, and he certainly would never have done this of his own volition, but it was something to do at the moment. He drew stick figure portraits of himself, Slade, and Terra; bats and birds; and, once his creativity had run dry, started to write out the alphabet. Eventually, though, the water evaporated, and Robin was left alone once more.

He counted to ten in every language he could speak, then to one hundred, then to one thousand. He recited his multiplication tables and perfect squares as high as he could remember. He tried singing all the songs he could think of, but never seemed able to get through one in its entirety before forgetting the lyrics.

Finally, Robin realized that a good way to stop being so thirsty was to stop talking so much, and he fell silent.

The only sound was the sound of his own breathing.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat on the floor, but eventually he’d had enough.  He crawled back onto his cot and passed out.

* * *

 

Where were the damn cameras.

Robin was going insane trying to find them. He’d searched  _ everywhere _ , but still hadn’t found them. After days without food and only minimal water, he was running out of strength. Soon he’d be too weak to continue his search, and then he’d never find them.

Such a failure was never going to happen.

Robin heard a sound behind and whirled around. Slade.

“Hello, Robin,” his Master said in his signature baritone, “It’s been a while since we last talked, hasn’t it?”

Robin nodded and made his way over to the bars. He held a trembling hand out and Slade gingerly handed the promised glass of water.

Robin knew he shouldn’t drink it so quickly, but he was severely dehydrated. He downed the entire glass of water, at once feeling more refreshed. A small shiver passed through his body, and he let the glass fall to the floor. It shattered.

Slade looked at him with disapproval. “Look what you’ve done. Such insolence ought to be punished. But, then again,” he added, voice taking on a mocking quality, “you’re already being punished, aren’t you?”

Robin glowered at Slade but stayed silent, fingers curling around the bars. 

“So, Robin, are you ready to tell me the identity of the Batman?”

Robin shook his head, and Slade turned to leave. Just before he closed the door behind him, he offered a warning. “Careful with that resilience of yours, boy. You won’t last much longer in the state you’re in.”

Robin didn’t like the sound of that.

He fell back onto his bed and went back to sleep.

* * *

Robin wasn’t sure how much he’d been sleeping in the past few days. It seemed to be all he ever did, but he was so  _ tired _ . It was a good way to conserve energy and strength, and it wasn’t like there was anything to do while he was awake.

He spent what he guessed to be the next two days flitting in and out of sleep, occasionally punctuated by a stroll to the other end of the cell and back. Any extended period of time spent standing left his head spinning. He hated to admit it, but Slade had been right last time they spoke--Robin wouldn’t last much longer.

Slade had come again sometime while Robin was sleeping. Robin hated that; not seeing Slade’s arrival left him at even more of a loss as to what time it was or how many days had passed. He’d had four glasses of water since the torture training began, so it had been four days, probably. Unless he’d had five glasses. Or six? Robin couldn’t remember. The “days” were starting to blur together.

Currently he was lying under his bed on the floor. It was the only place in his cell that he hadn’t already memorized and exhausted. He was too weak to find the cameras, though he was sure they were still watching. Slade loved a show. 

He was definitely enjoying this, Robin concluded. Slade was that kind of weirdo who loved watching other people suffer. What was that called again? Sadism? Yeah, that was probably it. Slade was a sadist.

A Sladist.

Robin started laughing at that, and then he couldn’t stop. It wasn’t even that funny, but it was like he wasn’t in control of his body. He laughed until he was physically unable, and then he was simply breathing heavily on the floor under his bed.

“Sounds like you’re having fun,” a voice said, but for once it wasn’t Slade’s.

Robin sat up and hit his head on the bottom of his bed frame. He fell back to the floor with a shout, gripping his head. 

He edged out from under the bed slowly, and there she was. “Terra,” he breathed, not quite sure he was seeing straight.

“It’s me,” she confirmed, reaching through the bars to deliver Robin’s daily water.

He grabbed the glass from her hands but set it by his feet instead of drinking it. “I didn’t think …” he said, trailing off. What didn’t he think? 

Terra must have understood, though. “He sent me down today instead of him. I know, it’s not what you were expecting. Still, I …” 

She gripped Robin’s hands in hers. “Robin, we miss you. I miss you. It’s cold upstairs at night. Meals are nearly silent. Missions aren’t nearly as fun by myself. It’s easier with a friend, y’know?”

Robin nodded. “I miss you guys too. Believe me, this isn’t my idea of fun. But …” he sighed, eyes dropping to the floor. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Tell him,” Terra said pleadingly, and Robin recoiled.  

“Terra, you know I--”

“Please, Robin!” she cried, gripping the bars. “Look at you. You can barely stand. I’m asking you to care about your health. Master Slade—“

“He said I wouldn’t die,” Robin said placatingly, placing his hands on top of hers. “I’ll be fine.”

“There are other things you should be worried about,” Terra warned. “Your muscles might already be breaking down. The longer this goes on, the more damage you’re doing to your body. How long do you think you’ll be out of the field? And that’s only one thing. Listen, Robin—“

“No, Terra. I can’t.” Robin backed away, hanging his head and wrapping his arms around himself. “I’m sorry.”

“Why’re you so committed to protecting him anyways!?” Terra shouted. “Didn’t you leave him because he was treating you like a kid and not a partner?  _ I’m  _ your partner now, and I’m trying to help you! You don’t work for him anymore, remember? We work for Slade now. Batman’s not your mentor. If anything, Batman is your enemy.” Terra’s eyes went shiny, and she wiped them with the back of her hand. “Whose side are you on?”

Robin was shocked. “Terra,” he said, but she was already pulling away. 

“I guess I’ll see you in the infirmary, then,” she muttered, opening the door to leave. “Goodbye, Robin.”

“Terra!” Robin shouted as the door swung shut behind her. “Terra, wait!”

But she didn’t. 

Robin sank to his knees and tried not to dehydrate himself further by crying. 

The next time Slade came for him, Robin was ready. 

“Bruce Wayne,” he said quietly before Slade even had to ask. “Batman’s real identity is Bruce Wayne.”

Slade didn’t visibly smile, but Robin thought he probably was anyways. “Come along,” Slade said, unlocking the cell door. 

Robin took a step and lurched forward, falling into Slade’s chest. “I’m not sure I can walk,” he admitted. 

“That’s disappointing,” Slade said, slinging one of Robin’s arms over his shoulder, “Considering you’ve only gone without food for three days. I expected you to be better than that.”

Robin stumbled, and Slade caught him by the waist. His blood was pounding in his ears. Distantly, he was aware of his own voice. “Three days?” he whispered. “But, the water, it’s been six days, maybe?” 

Slade jerked Robin roughly to his feet. “I  _ lied _ to you, Robin. Do you remember what I told you? I said that you are not to see me as your mentor or your friend or anything of that sort. Why did you trust me?”

Robin just shook his head and clung to Slade even more tightly, unable to find the words. Tears started to leak out of his eyes. How could he have been so stupid? Slade had explicitly told him … well, not exactly. But that was no excuse. He’d been a fool.

Slade placed a comforting hand on Robin’s shoulder and waited until his apprentice collected himself. Once Robin had, Slade hauled him along to the main part of their hideout, where Terra was waiting with a relieved smile and a steaming bowl of … something. Robin sniffed the air—chicken noodle soup?—as Slade put him down in his chair at the table and Terra placed the bowl in front of him. No sooner was there a spoon in his hand than was he practically inhaling the soup.

It tasted heavenly, though Robin suspected even if it was terrible he’d still love it. At any rate, the bowl was empty far too soon, and Robin stared at it forlornly until his sober expression was replaced with a happy one as Terra brought him a refill.

“I’m glad you came around,” she said warmly as she placed the second bowl in front of her partner. “I told you already, but we missed having you here.” She dropped into her seat across from Robin and started on her own bowl. Slade settled into his seat at the head of the table, and it was almost like things were normal.

Almost like Robin hadn’t just spent three (not six) days in a cell without any food.

Robin finished his second helping more slowly than the first. After they finished dinner (lunch? Robin still hadn’t seen a clock or window) he stood up from the table and started to stumble towards his real bed.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Slade asked quietly, and Robin stopped. 

He turned around. “I’m exhausted. May I go to bed?”

Slade motioned for him to sit back down. “Not yet. We still haven’t discussed your performance. Terra, you stay as well, and listen.” Reluctantly, Robin sat back down at the table.

“Tell me one thing you did wrong,” Slade said, and Robin stared down at his lap.

“I trusted the villain,” he whispered, and Slade got up from his seat to walk over to Robin.

“You did,” he agreed, running a hand through Robin’s dirty hair, “And that was your undoing. You were unable to see me as anything other than a friendly face, despite how I warned you. This was an exercise in compartmentalization in that regard. You work against many people you used to side with, Robin, and I need you to be above those feelings of trust and security you formerly had for them. Resistance to torture was the primary goal, but this was definitely a factor.” 

Robin leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, and Slade took that as an invitation to continue running his fingers through Robin’s hair. “I understand. I’ll do better next time.”

“Good,” Slade said, voice colored with approval. “Now, get some rest. Neither you nor Terra slept enough during this exercise, and I said at the beginning that I didn’t want you dead.”

Robin frowned. “How did you know I wasn’t sleeping? I checked every inch of that cell, and I couldn’t find any cameras.”

“That’s because there weren’t any in the cell,” Slade explained. “Hiding cameras in that cell would have allowed you to find them, but hiding them just outside of the cell would allow me a good view of your activity while keeping them out of your reach.”

“I was going crazy trying to find them,” Robin admitted. “I knew you’d be watching, but …”

“I was,” Slade confirmed, withdrawing his hand. Robin opened his eyes as Slade held a hand out to Robin to help him out of his chair. “But it’s over now. You did well enough, my apprentice. I would tell you to take a shower but, like I said before, now you need to rest.”

Robin took Slade’s hand and stood up from the table. Terra put an arm around his waist and guided him to their room. The moment Terra let him go Robin flopped down onto the mattress. He was out before his head hit the pillow.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is the name of a Bastille song
> 
> Find me and request bingo squares on [Tumblr](http://www.skeletoncloset.tumblr.com)


End file.
